


Parisian Scratcher

by Viatoris (LaFemmeDarla)



Category: Paradise Kiss
Genre: First Time, M/M, Paris Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaFemmeDarla/pseuds/Viatoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George goes to Paris with Isabella on a board. They live in Paris in small, cramped apartment and so shmoopy homey story begins. Calm, moody nights and repressed days, Paris Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parisian Scratcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/gifts).



It wasn't really his fault. He was just that kind of person, he didn't like to look back, always running towards future, always chasing something. So when he decided to leave Yukari to her own devices, career, life au general, he didn't feel any guilt and nobody expected him to. Arashi, Miwako, others, they were surprised but coherent enough not try anything stupid. He wouldn't change his mind, he knew it, they knew it, there was no need for dramatic gestures. They were mostly grown ups now; sticking to the same place and the same people was just plain unsanitary thing to do in line of work they chosen.

So when George announced his departure, his friends just laughed, organized quick, messed up party, got him drunk, and kissed him sloppily on the cheeks, while sloshing drinks on his trousers. He didn't mind, he was grateful and too close to tears for his own liking. After Arashi bawled his eyes out, accusing him of being an ass, George decided it's time to hide in the bathroom, he escaped.

Later George explained, he just felt desperate need to brush up all outfits he wanted to leave for Yukari. Friends let him be, leaving him to his mellow sadness and tiny, shameful grim joy.

"Yeah, yeah. Go and get touchy feely with your true and only love, assface!" hollered Arashi and snuggled to Miwako, grinning like a madman.

George rolled eyes and fled, to get touchy feely. Or whatever.

He worked for this collection like a maniac, just like every time he smelled the victory, hidden between limelights, materials, flowers, make up accessories. Farewell goodbye present was a nice touch, tons of fancy dresses, outfits and creations worth of young goddess who just started her existence in big bad fashion business. Yukari was just that, soon-to-be goddess, she just needed to be left alone and bear with things with her own two hands.

George was proud of himself. No unnecessary words, just one single to the point thing he was good at. He never had any illusions about his social skills, then again it didn't bothered him. Lots of very successful people was socially awkward and lived with it. Besides gestures spoke louder than words, and gesture toward Yukari should be especially loud, since she was pretty good at deceiving herself. After all you should know when to end the game and Yukari needed George to leave her game desperately, to gain more, learn more, love more. Truth be told George didn't know how he felt about her, yet he was sure only Isabella was fitted to join him with his struggles. Be the greatest designer, that was the main purpose, for which George left everything dear to him. To move on, to let others move on. He couldn't think about it too much, it would make him indecisive and that was dangerous, especially when he just started new journey.

"But you will call us, right?" asked Miwako with trembling chin.

"Yes. Of course." answered George for millionth time.

"Can we visit you?"

"As soon as I'll have some proper apartment."

"But you won't forget us?"

"How could I?" George pecked Miwako on her cheek but stopped fast, seeing Arashi`s vengeful glare.

Friends were surprised by his decision, a bit hurt maybe, then again they never understood him that well, not that he helped them in the task. He was too occupied with his experiments and works, and talk wooing speeches wasn't his forte especially in the midst of new project. Before he announced his new journey, he immediately started his little plan with Paris Prime Collections and was pretty much excited. They responded really quickly for his offer, proving their good fashion and style sense. Besides, trip to Frech world wasn't something that happened on daily basis.

Actually George didn't have many friends aside workers of ParaKiss. He didn't have enough time for them and was perpetually buried in his works. But after farewell party, when Isabella came to his house to say goodbye, he discovered that there is one person he wish to take with him.

Isabella allowed herself to be captured and ushered from Japan with strange ease. Normally she was far more energetic and in regular circumstances George wouldn't stand a chance to snatch her from her home, responsibilities, from all that things her life consisted. But she wanted it and so did he, and that was more that enough for both of them to leave. He never thanked her for this act of friendship, and she never asked him for it. Their relation was always of the silent, suborn type, that lasts no matter what.

"You sneaky creature, hiding on my boat like that!" he laughed, mildly pissed off, but Isabella's dazzling smile took off the edge.

"You know you love me." she stated and stared at the cheesy sunset, sea, seagulls and all. He felt calm like that, on the course to unknown, with her flamboyant hats and gorgeous almond smell.

It was scary in a way, then again it was also strangely reassuring.

//////////////

Their new beginning in Paris should be tough and rough, just like every proper climbing up to the top should have. It wasn't anything like that. George after few days in hotel found apartment, cosy, too small but close to the center loft, with big windows and cramped kitchen.

"That is so neat! So mundane and casual! I love it!"

Isabella chirped gleefully, while whirling around boxes, full of clothes, capes, coats and scarves. She accepted George's decision about the flat choice rather quickly, as soon as she found out there is shopping center and exclusive hair stylist saloon near by. Two bedrooms and one living room was more than enough for soon-to-be famous designers and their not so great income.

His father's money were for school and for school only, and so George started work at Paris Prime Collection as a first assistant of famous Luis Dulac and was quickly getting a hang on things. Isabella found part time job as barman and after few weeks George wheedled her into crafting team in new Dulac project, nothing spectacular, but always good.

They had some money but still not enough to get bigger apartment. George didn't agree on his father's help, and so Isabella, led by some twisted sense of community, also refused to use her heritage connections. All and all they were left alone, just like they wanted to be, or so George thought at least. What thought Isabella none knew.

"If we're alone, then we're alone and that's it." said George, when he returned home, half dead after 24 hours straight work.

"Yes, yes, now eat your lasagna." Isabella put plate before him and sat, stretching her newly shaved legs.

///////////

They weren't used to living with somebody and soon close quarters situation showed big sharp claws. George was never the one to refuse challenge, but Isabella almost changed it, getting all battle mode on him just because he told her something about hair clogging shower drain.

"Just try to wear a wigs all the time and you'll see how wonderful it gets!" Isabella screeched at George, huffing and puffing, face reddened under the make up. George just stared.

"Then don't wear wigs in the house. We both know your true looks, wigs no wigs. Getting all dirty and calling a plumber just because you want brush hair..." he stopped middle sentence, because Isabella went to small corridor they used as a changing room, and put on boots with quick, angry movements.

"I'm going to work. I don't have a time for this bullshit." she told in a serious, very manly, very low voice which made George's penis twitch happily. "I will be back when I will be back. Goodbye George."

And just like that beautiful, ethereal in her long, black cougar coat Isabella left him, with her fake hair, manly voice and funny glint in her eyes. From this particular glint George knew she'd come back eventually and felt a bit better.

Fighting Isabella was always traumatic experience for him, partly because he knew she can just take her bags, whirl around and vanish, returning into secluded chambers of her family empty castles. Small insecurity he never shared with anyone was pretty shameful thing and better left unsaid.

George didn't comment when Isabella stopped wearing wigs in house in favor of fine, classy hats. Sometimes, when he was busy, hunched over some one last minute deadline project, he watched her. It wasn't as he didn't do that earlier, just now it was more on the assessing, glancing, checking out side.

Because yeah, that was strange. In homey dresses and fancy hats Isabella looked nor male nor female, just someone... different. Someone appealing. George pondered about dressing her up in one of his suits and found the thought inappropriate. He liked his partners to wear his clothes sometimes, but normally his partners were girls, and Isabella was just... different.

And she wasn't his partner to begin with.

///////////////

There were many options in George's view of gender roles and he didn't have the slightest idea why Isabella picked up male image. Asking about changing sex was considered rude and George didn't want to be rude for somebody so strong and yet so fragile as Isabella. He presumed she did female so well just to roam freely through the transvestites bars and have opportunity to escape whenever she felt like it. That was stupid thought, but George had this premonition a while back, before he decided Yamamoto Daisuke needs to be Isabella and stop trying to be someone else. Underneath the whole decorum Isabella was almost the same kind of smiling, chatting friendly outsider as George. Unclassified, undecided, undone.

"Where is aspirin?" asked Isabella one morning, all messy and cute, like she just rolled from the bed.

"Bathroom cabinet, left shelf." answered George amused and smacked her on the butt. "Headache? So early?"

"Funny things these night shifts." Isabella vanished in the bathroom, rummaging through piles of tablets and cosmetics. "George, be human, give me some caffeine."

George laughed and just put some more coffee to the brewer. Morning, night, afternoon. In this particular moment in history, time didn't really matter in George's life. He was too preoccupied with his new Paris issues. Running a project in Paris Collections, going to school, meeting the right people, and giving them right place in his life and business, these were rather absorbing duties and pleasurable as well. Sorta. George didn't want to waist time for useless thinking.

He never brought girl to their apartment, kept all his love affairs as far away from Isabella as possible. Through his affairs had more to do with sex than anything else, and word "love" wasn't really matching. Love was always something too fleeting for George and after Yukari he preferred to stay away from it.

"Had a nice night?" asked Isabella absentmindedly, and put some waffles with honey before George. She looked awesome in frilly, purple apron.

"Yeah." answered George with a smile and popped his neck. It was a bit mundane and repetitive, but still better, than start a sour fight because of uncaring, selfish, silent flatmate who cannot be a part of normal, pleasant, breakfast conversation for a life of his.

"Fun night, fun morning. Thanks for waffles, honey."

Isabella didn't bother answering the jibe, just patiently brushed some stranger's hairs from George's suit. She never invited anyone, also in attempt to be discreet about her sex life. Well, she worked in a bar, for crying out loud, for somebody like her, finding one night stand was an easy game.

"You shouldn't coming back alone. You work late and our district isn't particularly safe." made a point George one Sunday afternoon, after Isabella returned from work in early morning blue sky hours. "Don`t want anything happen to you."

Isabella laughed and just finished her rice cake with ease of practiced rice cake devouring monster.

"You surely want to make my life a boring hell. Just another lousy vegetation if nothing happens, right, dearest?"

It was polite way of saying, leave me the fuck alone and cut yourself a little break. In Isabella language anyway. George shrugged and returned to his important unfinished project he wanted to show on Monday in Paris Collection.

George visited Isabella at work few times, just to be sure she's happy with things. She was, she brightened up all place with her sparkling dresses, impeccable make up and suave manners. George didn't think some guys hitting on her were aware of her real gender, then again Isabella was such a lady no man and no woman could resist.

When George came to her work, Isabella always gave him free drinks, talked and gossiped, and sometimes even hit on other customers in front of him. She was cute, beaming, innocent flirt and George wondered, how men react when she take off her wig. Probably they don't pay attention, too busy with her gorgeous body, or they just don't care.

////////////

One memorable October night Isabella came back with black eye and bruised jaw and went straight to bathroom, hiding there like George wouldn't notice. He waited for her by the door, leaning over the wall and listening quiet cursing, small whines and some snifflings dangerously close to cry. George wanted to find the guy, or the girl, whatever, who was responsible for this, and beat them for pulp. But that wouldn't be classy, and Isabella was fully capable of fighting her own battles, so yeah.

Still, it was pretty fucking upsetting.

George knew he'll make Isabella uncomfortable but he didn't care. When she got out of the bathroom he caught her by the arms and led to her bedroom.

Bedrooms were their guarded territories, no trespassing, no peering through drapes, no touching somebody else's hair products. These unspoken rules were a must. Isabella and George had strong personalities, living room and bathroom were exposed to all kind of interaction, just like common goods, couch, television, miserable coffee table full of laptop cables, fashion magazines and empty mugs.

But now George just took Isabella and invited himself into smelling like sandal wood and lilies bedroom. It was a bit stuffy but pleasant aroma.

Isabella was unsteady and exhausted under his arm. He dumped her lightly on the bed, all angry and tense.

"Thank you, my prince charming." she chuckled and whined, when she touched her bruised jaw. George petted her gently on the hair.

"I'm not so charming, when you get to know me better, darling."

Isabella loved to sleep near the windows, feature that especially now, in Paris, blossomed into really strong habit. She crammed her bed and night table under huge window with wonderful view of square park and nearest protestant church. George knew Isabella liked to stare with sleepy eyes at lights of Paris, and think. The fact she contemplated something outside material reality, was strongly obvious, but that was everyday notion for George.

All his life George lived in the middle of strange gatherings, all kind of visioners, freaks and genius madmen. And yet he didn't know what Isabella had been thinking, never, he didn't know if she was a woman or a man, if she loved him as a friend or as a unacceptable, impossible lover. It was very confusing to pounder about it, so he just pretended he isn't interested. In her female form she was a bit different from the person he knew, from before Great Isabella period, when she was just a little boy wanting something different.

Isabella coughed and sniffed wetly. She didn't wear a wig, strangely naked without cascades of long, curly hair. Dressed just in her sweatshirt and pajama pants only, with confusingly male movement she dived unceremoniously under the blankets. Ashamed, pathetic, surrounded.

"Don`t stare." she said, when George decided to join her on the bed and also watch outside world through the frozen window. "Just say whatever you want to say and go away."

"It isn't a nice way to talk to your closest friend." he laughed and flapped his hand with well played anger. "You are one disrespectful lady, Isabella."

"You are one pig -headed fool, George. Listening under bathroom door." she replied and he heard in her voice soft, quiet rumble. "And that feature of character I truly hate in you."

"Why?" no, really, he wanted to know. Isabella always kept their little friendship at hidden, low level of unspoken abstraction. He would like to know more about the facade of this relationship through her eyes. The chances were the female Isabella was mixed with the moody, unpredictable male Isabella for good. George didn't mind, he liked Yamamoto Daisuke au general, aside small quirks.

"After all these years you should know that I'm very used to my female form. And yet in your glorious wisdom you didn't notice the most important thing." low, dry tone of her voice had some weird, deep vibes and made him want to reach and touch her neck. It was smooth and cool under his palm.

"You need something?" asked George, although he presumed he knew the answer from ages. Someone, someone. You need someone? It's funny that he saw it just at the moment, and Isabella laughed openly now, blotchy cheeks, red eyes and swollen lips.

"No. Nothing. Nothing big. Just someone to scratch my head under the wig sometimes. When I suffer winter melancholic depression." slim, strong body pressed to George's side, gentle fingers on his new, stripped shirt. "You volunteer, George?"

He sighed heavily through we was more inclined to slightly hysterical knee-jerk no!

"Where you want me to scratch again?"

He didn't volunteer, but he had strong conviction that he can be useful for something more that just fate of genius designer assistant.

They went to bathroom to wash Isabella's face and put some creams on it, they eat vanilla ice cream, snuggle some more on the bed. They watched stupid talk shows. Best cure for insomnia. Isabella was out like a light after half an hour, all pale and petulant. He covered her with blankets and took a picture with his cell, it was so soothing view...

This night George had trouble sleeping and just wandered around the apartment, poking at books and stroking couch covers. Isabella snored softly in her room, surely dreaming of some anonymous scratcher.

Next morning they didn't talk about the whole thing, who hit Isabella, when and why stayed mistery. Bruise came off pretty fast and on weekends George started escorting Isabella home. He dropped just for a small drink to club she worked in, and waited till she finished her shift. Whoever wanted to hurt Isabella needed to pass through him first. George didn't look like professional wrestler but when he got angry he was pretty scary and that was enough in most cases.

"My hero." laughed Isabella, catching him gently by the ear. Her fingers were smooth and delicate.

"Your bodyguard. Wanna hear me roar?" George made a face and crooked his hat.

After all not everybody needs to do everything. Bodyguard cannot be good scratcher even if he tried.

///////////

He was really worried when she fell ill. That was few months after their moving to Paris and true, Isabella never been oh so healthy specimen, but this, this was down right scary.

It was December heavy rains and quickly dissapearing snow poured from the grey skies. Streets were covered with icy water and quickly melting snow. Chilly wind moved naked tree branches, licking through coats, scarves and hats.

And it was frigging cold, cold like run and hide in some warm coffee shop every few steps, otherwise you'll freeze to death. Isabella mentioned it lots of times, whenever she returned from work, from shopping, from groceries. George didn't pay attention, because yeah, french climate was sharper than japaneese, but it was still mild, considering the rest of Europe. Isabella listened his explanations, nodded and after one particularly long night she came back sick as a dog, her body developing some kind of undefined illness. Doctor, a lanky, tall gentleman with badly matched belt and shoes, claimed it's just some kind of virus, nothing heavy, nothing serious. George looked at him gloomily when medic prescribed antibiotics and insisted strongly for Isabella staying in bed for few days.

"I guess you won't go anywhere soon, my darling." said George, after doctor left, and they were alone again in the cramped, little bedroom smelling like sandal wood.

Isabella moaned and buried deeper into the covers, no wig, no hat, no nothing.

"Yeah. Well. I'll bring you some tea, sweetheart."

Isabella didn't answer and George decided he'll make some tea anyway. And then he'll make her drink it no matter what.

It was hard week and weekend didn't look any better. George was tired and Isabella was cranky and soon they separated to their own business. He finished his school homework and she slept like a log for few hours straight.

Isabella came to him as usual, without warning or invitation. Not even a single word. She didn't asked for anything just hopped at his bed and curl up in a tight, too hot, a bit sweaty ball. He noticed that her body was strangely warm and demanding. When he smoothed her back, she just made a strangle, purring sound. Not so classy, but definitely sexy.

From the outside it could've been taken as sex proposition, but George knew it wasn't it. Not quite. Isabella had these kind of urges sometimes, didn't have proper amount of people to bond with and as a result she though she could bond with him. With George. Fatal mistake, considering George was kinda crippled in that department. Feelings, emotions, he invested it all in work, created things which make others feel more intense, but himself he was kinda... loner. Immature loner. And he was good at that.

"You are sick, my dear. Don`t make stupid things." George murmured into Isabella's pink, flushed ear. "You should pile yourself in bed and stay put."

"But I dun wanna..." whined Isabella, crowding him into the wall, all hot, feverish and half naked.

George told her to dress into his big, worned down shirt he slept in sometimes, and she agreed after a short, useless fight. He covered her naked ass with a blanket and forced her to lay down in his bed. He seriously wanted to help, bring her some more tea, make her swallow another dose of antibiotics, but when long, strong, pale arm reached for him from beneath the sheets, his conscious thoughts run away scattered.

"What do you want, Isabella?"

"Your body. Just for a moment."

She didn't give him a time for objection, for reasonable thinking and pondering about loveless sex. Her skin was unnaturally hot under his palms and mouth. From one hand, he knew they shouldn't do it because it might break their friendship, but from the other hand, it was so perfectly easy for them to take part in this little body game. It was so familiar and natural, like they were doing it the whole time. He found himself draped over Isabella`s lean chest and pushing her down to the crumbled bed sheets. She was clinging to him like a burr, arms and tights encircling him impatiently, strong and distinguishably male.

Then he rationalized the whole thing in a very logical way, that he don`t have a chance for a love in the nearest future so as well he could take what was given to him. A very poor excuse but at the moment it sounded pretty convincing and he decided to go with the flow. He didn't need a better reason in this particular situation.

His last girlfriend was Yukari, and she wasn't even half as passionate as Isabella. That might have been caused by incredibly exciting male factor, embedded into Isabella like precious stone into fine bracelet. Other textures under your tongue, different, more tingly tastes, body not so easy to push down to the mattress, but oh so pleasantly warm and solid, heavy and comforting.

When they came and collapsed at crumpled blankets, George was floating in sparkling afterglow, watching with wide eyes as walls swirled around them. He felt unusually sleepy and serene.

"You asleep?" asked Isabella, wonderfully stretched and opened for him, arms and legs like a starfish in the middle of a bed sheets. He was lying on her full weight but she didn't complain.

"Nuh..." he murmured, only barely conscious.

"You can sleep now, George. I don`t mind."

He was too relaxed and content to protest.

"You're always... such a crude cuddler."

"Only with proper gentlemen." Isabella laughed breathlessly.

"Never again." he thought he heard, but it was unclear is this was his own thought, or Isabella proclamation. Sleep claimed him, pulling him underneath the reality surface.

////////

He was never the one to loose time for useless thinking about lack of relations in his devoted to the fashion and designing life. He was way to focused for that, but it was the 'never again' morning and he was lying alone in unpleasantly empty, rather chilly bed. And that little moment proved that he developed some undiscovered gaps in his concentration.

When Isabella showed up in kitchen around the noon, she was in her male form, dressed in fluffy bathrobe, no wig and no make up.

"You ok?" he asked and she answered quickly and lightly.

"Yes. Of course. I feel better today, will make something to eat."

They carried some meaningless conversation like nothing happened. And maybe really nothing happened. Nothing. Nothing at all. With small smile he watched her back as she prepared dinner, all cheerful and happy. He just helped her to live trough the hardest moments in her temporarily sick body, and that's that. She didn't deserted him, decided to go with him despite his sudden trip to Paris, took bravely all consequences, by all means she was really his best friend. In some crazy way she helped him more than anyone else, so that little favor he done for her wasn't even worth mentioning.

Further pondering about it was fruitless and depressing, and George didn't do 'depressing' well, preferring something along the 'devious and jolly'.

"I hope you like potato salad, because it's all I've got at the moment!" Isabella said, rattling pots and pans, somehow pushed inside fridge. He leaned back and caressed her elbow lightly. She smiled to him, all dimples and fucking sunshine, then returned to the boiling water, salad and bread.

"It'll do, you uncaring fiend!" he snared, caught Isabella and sat her on the kitchen table. "Just remove all the onion. I hate onions."

Isabella saluted him with severe face.

"Yes sir!"

She fell asleep just when he threw away all the onions from salad and accidentally found in his refrigerator some not so old sweet milk cream. He stood beside Isabella and watched her snore, all sweat and relaxed, with messy short hair and slack mouth. He wanted to kiss this mouth and so he did. Just like that he knew they are tied up somehow and they will stay together no matter what. He was fool not seeing this coming.

Isabella stared at him with Daisuke eyes, said nothing.

"I'm kinda immature and slow. " confessed George, still with his lips against Daisuke mouth. "Will you work with me forever, like you promised?"

"Yes. I might even love you forever if you scratch me properly." breathed Isabella with a gentle smile.

"I`m best scratcher on the planet, sweetheart! Few different kinds of scratch and chance for staying in this awesome apartment for God knows how long! I was sure you won't resist my charm much longer." sneered George but was shut by another kiss. Isabella pulled him close, between her legs and kissed him in a clearly manly fashion.

All in all, it was good to have so close, understanding coworker. All in all, it was ok to scratch your best friend and lover once a while. Afterall life`s short and better stick to forever concept just for a while longer.

end


End file.
